


Dangerous (And I Might Just Tear You Apart)

by purpjools



Series: Human Hazbin Roommates AU [14]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Bottom Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Breast Fucking, Breast Growth, Breeding Kink, But Mostly Topping Alastor, Consentacles, Creampie, Cunnilingus, Demon Sex, Demon/Human Relationships, Gangbang, Genderbending, Halloween, Hallucinations, Human Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Human Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Intercrural Sex, Intersex Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Interspecies Sex, Knotting, M/M, Male Lactation, Mild Daddy Kink, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mpreg, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Piercings, No Refractory Period, Painful Sex, Rimming, Switching, everyone is human, implied drugging, mild choking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27305197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpjools/pseuds/purpjools
Summary: Ghouls and goblins aside, All Hallows' Eve is upon us.As Alastor and Angel's first Halloween as a couple, this year is markedly different.Reader beware: There's no escape, and one person in particular is about to witness the most spooktacular Halloween of his life.
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Human Hazbin Roommates AU [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1699558
Comments: 67
Kudos: 165





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the tags.
> 
> Special thanks to Galaw/Scratch for coming up with the RadioDust costumes.

“You should get a monocle.”

“What? No, contrary to popular belief, the Monopoly Man does not wear one. Mandela Effect, I’m afraid.”

“Mr. Peanut wears one.”

“I’m not going as Mr. Peanut, you imbecile.”

Husk slathers the rest of his face in emollient. He irritatingly misses several spots in his haste, and after dousing what Alastor deems as excessive over the rest of his hirsute mug, he reaches over and fills in the spaces with his thumb. Husk grumbles but lets Alastor smooth the product into his skin.

“ _Angel_ likes monocles,” he unhelpfully points out. Alastor shushes him.

“I’ll take his word for it.”

“Yeah, they are fuckin’ hot.”

Angel walks back into the living room, arms loaded with skincare bottles. He kicks Husk’s shin, glaring at his proximity to Alastor, and presumably Alastor’s hands on his face. Husk growls but scoots over just as Alastor finishes covering the rest of his face. Angel sits, draping his legs over Alastor’s lap, and dumps the bottles on the couch. Alastor leans closer, looping his hands around his waist. Twisting at the cold touch, Angel unscrews the cap from the largest vial. He scoops the product onto his fingers and leans in.

Angel pats the goo over Alastor’s cheekbones. He swipes it over his dimples and traces it along his jawline. His tongue pokes out as he applies the cream, and Alastor barely resists leaning forward to taste the tip of it. It’s quite frankly, adorable, and more than a little arousing. He smiles wickedly as the tent in his sweatpants makes that abundantly clear.

His boyfriend squirms as he feels it growing under his plush thighs.

“Babe,” he whines, subconsciously grinding down. “We promised Husk.”

At the mention of his name, Husk starts and hisses, eyeing them up and down.

“You dirty fucks better not be playing footsie.”

Alastor, eternally playing dirty, bucks up hard, bouncing Angel on his lap.

“Nothing doing, Husker! And certainly nothing whatsoever with feet.”

Angel playfully smacks his chest. “Babe! He’s gonna have an aneurysm! Stop!”

“I’m going to have more than that, ya fucking dickbags-”

“If this is arousing you in any way, I suggest that you either excuse yourself and take care of it, or will it down.”

“I’ll will _you_ down, you skeevy shit-”

“Alastor! C’mon. It’s masked movie night,” Angel whines. “Let Husk watch the movie too.” He dips down to nibble his earlobe. “I’ll make it up to ya later. I’ll let ya tie me to the bed all day tomorrow so you can fuck me whenever ya want.”

It’s an intriguing proposition. They tried that once: Angel, stomach down and tied up, spread out on their bed, with naught but one of their toys buried in his body. Periodically, Alastor would return to their room and fuck him senseless with or without the vibrator deep inside, until he sated himself. Angel, of course, wasn’t allowed relief. They purchased a chastity device to assist, or desist, with that.

He licks up Alastor’s ear. “I’ll wear the outfit ya like. An’ the blindfold. Plus, I’ll keep the heels on.”

Sold.

Alastor sighs and takes his own advice. He tilts his head back and allows Angel to finish his face, thinking about baseball, or Vox.

Both subjects do the trick.

When Angel lowers his hands, Alastor returns the favor. He pats the mask on Angel’s face with less roughness than with Husk’s. He dots the freckled visage, dancing his fingers over contoured curves, and paints the gentle slope of his cheek. Angel moans, cricking his neck. He bites his lip as Alastor evens it out.

At this point, Alastor couldn’t care less about the mask.

He just wants to keep touching Angel’s face.

Alastor finally finishes evening out his masterpiece and is greeted by Husk’s trademark accusatory look.

“That counts as pornographic, asshole.”

He smiles as Angel’s eyes flutter open. “Yes. I’m sure it does.”

Soft lips press over his own. Alastor licks into his parted mouth as Husk groans in the background. He pays no heed.

What Husk doesn’t understand is that this isn’t just sex.

It’s _everything_.

* * *

The credits roll.

Face scrubbed clean, Alastor stretches, arching his back while Husk yawns. Angel tuts at them while he reluctantly gets up from his nest at Alastor’s side to turn off the television. Alastor leers at his swaying backside, barely covered by those indecent excuse for shorts, as his boyfriend grouses the whole way.

He doesn’t feel an ounce of guilt; it’s Angel’s fault that the remote is broken. He pitched it at the wall during their last altercation after Angel started a near-riot at a bar and barely skirted arrest thanks to Alastor’s flirtatious repartee with the police officer. Unsurprisingly, he did not appreciate that one iota and read him the riot act during the whole insufferable ride back. Angel’s jealousy knows no bounds, especially when inanimate objects are present. Needless to say, it was the couch again for Alastor and his sharp tongue.

C’est la vie.

Angel bends over. Alastor’s attention flicks to Husk, who pointedly raises his chin to stare at the ceiling. He whistles for good measure. It marginally lessens the impulse to throttle him.

“Still can’t believe ya dicks appreciate skincare,” Angel says, snickering. He saunters back to where he belongs and curls up like a kitten. Alastor kisses his crown, wrapping an arm around him. Angel nuzzles into his side.

“So, babe. Whatcha thinkin’ of, costume-wise?”

“Husker suggested the Monopoly Man.” He wrinkles his nose. “Or Mr. Peanut.”

Angel flicks his popcorn at the offending party. “No, Al. You ain’t goin’ as Mista fuckin’ Peanut or the Monopoly guy.” He straightens, bristling. “‘Sides, ya promised to coordinate with me. This is our first Halloween as a couple!”

He pecks Angel’s forehead in an attempt to placate him. “That, I did.”

“And?”

“I have no idea. Not the faintest clue.” Angel makes a moue of exasperation. “Come now, dear. I haven’t gussied up for Halloween since college, with the exception of that one bizarre year.” He shudders, recalling the cursed memory.

“I never want to subject myself to that scant amount of clothing on Vox. Ever again.”

A haunted look passes over his face. It speaks of bygone trauma and abject horror. Angel bites his lip to keep from asking, and Husk is doing a decent job of keeping curiosity at bay by chugging what looks like the rest of their bourbon.

Sighing, he decides to humor them.

“It’s now unwillingly burned into my brain what ‘all-male revue’ shows are. And no, Angel. Not what your work entails. It’s the ones with bowties and cuffs with naught but skin between them.” He groans, slumping. “I hate him. With every fiber of my being.”

The traumatic retelling garners little sympathy from his audience.

“Right.”

“Al, ya fucking drama queen.”

He drapes his body over the couch. “What do I have to do to gain a little sympathy around here? The man is _vile_.”

“Eh,” Husk says, shrugging. He unscrews the stopper from the decanter. “Objectively, he ain’t bad looking. Not my type, but Niffty thinks he’s cute.”

Angel wisely refrains from agreeing. Alastor sends him an appreciative smile before flipping the expression on Husk.

“Vile,” he hisses. He waves his arms, driving the point home. He vows to have a chat with Niffty.

About her failing eyesight.

Speaking of.

He props his chin on Angel’s thigh. “Didn’t you want me to wear a monocle? Another”-“Fetish,” Husk coughs as Alastor glares at him-“ _preference_ of yours?”

Angel laughs. It’s such a wonderful, pervasive sound, and Alastor savors it.

“What can I say? I’m a freak. But do what you like, babe. It don’t matter to me. As long as I get to spend one of my favorite holidays with you.” His expression turns wistful. He grabs Alastor’s hand, fingers slotting between the spaces.

“Halloween was the only time that I was free to dress up however I wanted. The guys all made fun of me until I wore my costume.” He chuckles, but it lacks conviction. “I was on my knees the whole night.”

Husk laughs along with him, but Alastor remains silent. He drums his fingers on Angel’s thigh, trying his best to corral his temper. Alastor wasn’t aware of how possessive and jealous he could be until Angel entered the picture. He thought that any homicidal rages in regards to his past partners were due to happenstance.

He has no illusions about that any longer.

Angel is the common denominator.

He reaches up to smother Angel in kisses, Husk be damned. Angel squeals as he plants them over his face. Husk predictably groans and guzzles another swig of their whisky. Angel smiles down at him, pink hair haloed by the lights.

Beatific, as usual.

“What do you want to be?” Alastor asks, the question slipping past his lips.

Angel smiles, a genuine one, as he dips his head.

“Just yours,” he murmurs.

The declaration is soft against his mouth.

* * *

Jack-o-lanterns in various sizes pile together in a scattered heap on their porch. The autumn wind whistles past the trees, buffeting the boughs and tickling the leaves with unseen, wispy fingers. The paper skeletons flutter gaily from their ropes. Children shriek and race home, tiny ghouls cutting through their yard and hurdling over the plastic tombstones.

Tonight is All Hallows’ Eve, and mischief is afoot.

He hears Husk swear at the neighborhood terrors from their kitchen. A beat of silence, and then, as an afterthought:

“Where is that flamboyant fuck?”

“I’m in the garage,” Alastor calls out.

Husk ambles in, bare feet kicking up residual dust. Alastor wrinkles his nose at the mess but benevolently refrains from commenting. He fiddles with the dials, trying to find the right combination to improve reception.

The station and his viewers deeply regret his absence this Halloween. But what could be done? Angel turned on him with those pleading eyes and even more convincing mouth, and so it went. Halloween would just have to miss their titular radio star this year. Alastor sighs. Patently unsuccessful, he emerges from the driver’s seat. Husk’s jaw unhinges, most likely due to his appearance.

“Is that a fucking pornstache?”

“It’s a fake mustache, yes. Angel wouldn’t let me grow a real one.” He sighs. “Says it’ll wreak havoc with his-”

“Pussy.”

Alastor narrows his eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m a cat,” he says, smirking like one who got into the cream. Alastor crosses his arms.

“Yes, I can see that.” He nods at the sloppily painted whiskers on his cheeks. “I thought you were matching with Niffty?”

“Nah.” Husk takes a generous pull of his drink. “Couldn’t find a yellow raincoat at the last minute. Plus, it implies some weird shit, us being together and all. So we settled on an old fave.” He elbows his side while Alastor grimaces. “Ya know. For the after-party, if ya get my drift-”

Alastor shoves him off, lip curling. “Yes, yes. Meaning received. Loud and clear.” Dusting off his sleeves, he fixes the cuffs.

Husk whistles, eying the rest of the ensemble. “Nice suit.”

“Do you like it?” Alastor pats down his lapels. Black pinstripes. He’d prefer it in red, but alas. The costume wouldn’t make sense besides.

“Where’s Twinkie?”

“Upstairs. Powdering his nose.”

“Like, literally? Or-”

“We’re not dabbling in any illicit substances tonight. No matter how Dionysian the venue.”

“Why not? What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Do you have a selective memory or did all the booze rot your brain? He _fellated_ me on a dance floor.”

“Right.” Husk shrugs, taking a sip of his ever-present drink. “Sure thing, bud. Just booze and stogies, then. Gotcha.”

“Just liquor, Husker. I’m afraid cigarettes are out of the equation.” Alastor drags a palm over his face, muffling a sigh. “Angel forbids it.”

The look of disbelief that Husk sports would be comical if the situation weren’t so dire.

“Are you shitting me?”

“Cigarettes cause cancer, Husk. And I ain’t lettin’ Al kick the bucket before me.”

Angel appears in the doorway, dressed like a pinup or a centerfold. The neckline dips scandalously low on his bare chest, revealing creamy skin and freckles. His chest, enticingly flat since Angel voted against padding at the eleventh hour, is framed by strands of long black hair from his wig. Twin slits running from ankle to upper thigh showcase his gorgeous mile-long legs. His makeup is impeccable, and those _heels_.

Alastor can still feel the twin pinpoints of pressure on his cock.

He coughs, inadvertently swallowing excess saliva.

Husk wolf whistles. “Damn Twinkie, you clean up nice!” He directs Alastor to stand next to Angel, pulling out his phone. Alastor snakes an arm around Angel’s waist as he leans into him.

“God, babe. Ya look just like him. But _hotter._ ” He leans down and touches his nose to Alastor’s. “Thanks for doin’ this, babe. Love ya.”

The scent of roses blooms under his nose as his hair kisses his cheek. A cloud of warmth envelopes him, rendering him off-kilter, if for a second at most. Tension escapes his body as the increasingly familiar feeling settles and seeps into his bones.

Soothing over the cracks in his heart.

“Gotta say, the characters totally fit ya both.”

Husk hums the first few bars of the theme song as he takes the picture.

Alastor and Angel snap their fingers twice in accordance.

* * *

“Trick or treat!”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ!”

Angel springs back, tripping over his long train. Alastor and Husk instinctively catch him by the elbows. Husk forlornly watches as some of his drink upends and sloshes to the floor.

Sharp yellow teeth bordered by red lips gleam up at them in a macabre grin. Large ochre irises peer up, each eye bisected with slashes of red paint. The round crimson nose is the most benign part of the outfit, including the blood splatters. Those, Angel hopes, are also fake.

Knowing Niffty, it’s a fifty-fifty chance.

He decides it’s better to leave the matter as is. Just like the stains.

“D’ya ever wear sexy costumes, Niff?”

“Nope!”

“It’s fucking Halloween, dipshit. Costumes ain’t supposed to be fucking sexy.” Husk leans down and greets his girlfriend with a peck. “Hiya, babe.”

The resulting image is disconcerting, to say the least. Angel scrunches his nose in repulsion. He glances at his boyfriend for commiseration but finds none. Alastor still sports that unnerving grin, as if unaffected by a creepy clown playing tongue hockey with a drunk Cat in the Hat. He loudly proclaims his discomfort to his boyfriend and receives a blithe “those are unfortunate visuals, indeed, but let’s not dawdle” for his efforts.

Alastor grandly gestures to the door. It creaks open.

The chill wind sweeps past their pumpkins, ruffling the hallway paper decorations, and winds around their still-warm bodies. The lights flicker, and Angel just about jumps out of his skin. 

A radio switches on.

“Halloween awaits,” slithers a familiar voice from the speakers.

* * *

When they arrive at Lucifer’s mansion, the party is in full swing.

“Boo!”

Someone tackles Angel, sliding down until their arms hug his waist. Angel stiffens until Charlie’s grinning face pokes up at him. Relaxing, he pets her head and winds his fingers in her pigtails dyed at the ends. Vaggie walks over, glaring at Alastor’s wound up arm, frozen in a fist. He coughs, lowering it.

“Hello, girls,” he greets, to Charlie’s delight and Vaggie’s consternation.

“Women,” she mutters under her breath, smoothing down the faux vines and leaves encircling her arms. Charlie hugs Angel tighter.

“Missed you,” she says, and Angel melts.

“You too, princess. Niffty’s a clown, too,” he mumbles into her hair.

“Oh!” She brightens, and he swears the room lights up. “Like me?”

“Err. Not quite. Less…”

“Homicidal,” Alastor smoothly cuts in. He kisses her knuckles in greeting. “Your body count is marvelously higher. In most media, anyway. Happy Halloween, my dears. Apologies, I’m a bit jumpy tonight. Full moon, and all that jazz.”

“No worries, Al!” Charlie chirps. Vaggie’s glare says otherwise. “Sick matching costumes, guys! You’re a shoo-in for the couple’s costume contest!”

“Oh? Are the close contenders of Vox and his hand not competing this year?”

“Al,” Angel admonishes while Vaggie bites back a grin. He absently pats Charlie’s head. When she releases her hold, he gets a better peek at their costumes. Angel groans.

“Hasn’t _anyone_ ever heard of sexy costumes around here?”

“I have!”

Alastor emits a high pitched sound, not unlike static. “Oh no,” he hisses. “Not again.”

Angel prances up to the interloper, grinning from ear to ear. “Ooo, sexy costume, Voxxie!”

“Ain’t it?” He puffs up his chest proudly. “I’m a reindeer.”

“That,” Alastor spits, bristling, “resembles nothing of the sort. Reindeer are majestic creatures, you louse. How dare you desecrate the noble deer with such a filthy likeness!”

“Bite my red nose, dickwad! Velvet’s Santa Claws, and I’m Rudolph!”

“You’re _finished_ , is what you are-”

Apparently, there’s hell to pay when Alastor’s eyes are assaulted.

As well as his delicate sensibilities.

Thank fuck Valentino left early, Angel thinks. Sure, it was at Lucifer’s behest after Angel filled him in about the rising hostility between him and Alastor. But his ex-boyfriend also throws the biggest after-party every Halloween and likely left to prepare for that. The ungodly amount of time Valentino spends on his outfits makes both Angel and Alastor look like novices.

To everyone’s relief, Rosie arrives in the nick of time.

“Alastor,” she chides, voice deceptively calm. Much like her stance, it fools precisely no one. Every person present is hyperaware of the coil before the strike.

Alastor sniffs, crossing his arms. “He started it.”

“Not! You did! Ain’t that right”-he scans the room, looking for an agreeable ally, as short of a supply as there is-“Charlie?”

She chews her lip hesitantly. Rosie tuts. “Don’t answer that, dear. These primordial prats will bully and cajole you if you give them an inch. Don’t be fooled for one second.”

She shoos them with her staff. “You shall not pass, you utter wankers.”

After a scuffle where Alastor feigns nonchalance before swatting the antlers off Vox’s head, then tussling on the ground until security breaks it up, they disperse into their respective groups. Alastor licks at his wounds as Husk thrusts a cup each into his and Angel’s faces.

“Kanpai!” he proclaims as they both reach for the drinks.

“Cin cin,” Angel says as Alastor drawls, “Cheers.” They clink the glasses, wind their arms together, and drink each other’s fill.

* * *

Something is terribly wrong.

Angel’s vision swims as he tries to steady himself. His knees knock together as he trips over clumps of weeds embedded in the cracks of the garden path. He barely managed to shamble from the bathroom and out the door towards Lucifer’s sprawling acreage.

They were all drinking earlier in the rose garden, but due to the size of the estate and his shoddy sense of direction, Angel is hopelessly lost.

He shivers, wrapping arms around himself. All he can make out with his blurred vision are groves of trees and strange dancing lights in the branches beyond.

The encroaching fog rolls towards him, befitting this specific autumn night. Sinister shadows creep into his periphery, but when he turns, nothing is there. He stifles a whimper. The branches begin to look like long, spidery fingers up close, beckoning him into the deep dark. As Angel enters the gaping maw of the forest, he notices something peculiar.

Or the lack of it.

The forest is devoid of sound.

It is an immense vacuum of nothingness. No soft hooting, creatures digging, or even crickets trilling. Goosebumps prickle up his arms. Hair rises on the back of his neck. Dread sinks its claws into his stomach, dragging it down into unfathomable depths.

A twig snaps in the distance, and Angel bolts.

Heart thudding in his ears, he runs as fast as he can, leaping over gnarled roots, steadying himself on coarse bark when he slips. He follows the twinkling lights past the trees to the edge of the forest where it abruptly ends.

Angel stumbles into the clearing, disoriented. His heels sink into the dirt.

Panicked, he shouts for Alastor.

It is, in retrospect, the worst and best thing he could have done.

The world spins. His legs give out, and Angel folds to the ground.

* * *

He stirs.

The first thing he hears when he comes to is a cacophony of voices, all speaking over each other in argumentative tones.

The second thing, which should be impossible, is that all the voices seem to belong to his boyfriend.

Angel opens his eyes.

Alastor looms over him, blocking the smattering of undulating lights. “Good morning, sweetheart! Rise and shine, my dear! So glad to have you with us!”

Angel squints. He closes his eyes, then blinks them open again.

That can’t be right, he thinks.

Were those _antlers_?

Before he can remark on that queer observation, a hand slithers up his leg. He jolts. Two others encircle his waist, drifting further down to the tops of his thighs, where they begin inching past his dress slits. He shivers at the dual sensations, parting his legs out of habit. He tilts his chin to peer down when an exasperated voice calls out.

“Can you not? He’s disoriented! Give him some time to recover, at least. Mercy!”

A snap. The hands recede.

“They have a mind of their own, especially when it comes to that one.” A sniff. “I’m certain he’s bewitched them, somehow. There’s an unfortunate lag in calling them off.”

Alastor nods. His antlers bob with the movement, and they appear to be growing and shrinking in turns. Angel blinks again. He resists rubbing his eyes due to the makeup caked over them, so he props himself up on his elbows. Something feathery brushes against his cheek. Another figure angles into view.

Angel squeaks.

It’s also Alastor.

Except he sports a monocle over his right eye. And a floating circular band hovers above his crown.

Both of which would be easier to swallow than say, the giant fucking wings attached to his back.

“Hello, darling! Apologies for the unexpected grope,” he says, pointedly glaring behind him. “Terribly rude of, well. Me, I suppose.”

As shell shocked as he is, Angel can’t help himself.

“Unexpected, but I ain’t complainin’, babe.” He grimaces. Snark is apparently his go-to when confronted with the impossible.

Static buzzes arrhythmically, as if mimicking laughter. The hands return to his legs, slinking up his thighs. Although at this juncture, Angel questions if those are hands or even human limbs at all.

The answer to that particular query comes in the form of the devil.

Or what he appears to Angel, at least.

He’s tall. Extremely tall and thin. Like the other Alastor, antlers protrude from his crown, but in a less ostentatious manner: they resemble tuning forks instead of the tangled brambles sprouting from the other man’s head.

This one sports red hair, as opposed to the normal brown-black of the rest; a straightened texture tinged and dipped with black strands. It tufts on the sides of his head like bestial ears, and a reckless part of Angel aches to touch them, just to feel if they are as downy as they look. He’s dressed in a pinstripe suit, not unlike the one his human doppelganger currently wears, albeit in a different color. The finishing touches to his outfit include leather shoes, and like his winged twin, a monocle over his eye.

It weakens Angel at the knees. The visage is similar enough to his Alastor’s, and his traitorous cock responds to the resemblance. The demon leans forward, drunk with familiar joie de vivre and, if Angel reads his blown pupils correctly, desire.

He smiles, revealing rows of sharp, yellow teeth.

Angel oddly recalls one of Niffty’s stories. And of a fairy tale long before those.

_My, what big teeth you have_

Two more ghostly tendrils, now that Angel’s had a good look at them, snake over his clavicles and under his dress, peeling open the front of it. They slither around his nipples, toying with the piercings before parting the fabric and exposing his chest to his audience.

“Look at those,” the winged version of his boyfriend reverently breathes.

“Mine has them. And two on his tongue,” the antlered one boasts.

Demon Alastor hums. “Usually not my style, but I’m warming to the idea. I’ll broach the subject when mine is less…gravid. Right now he prefers for me not to touch him.”

“Same here. Hormones, most likely.”

Angel goggles at both antlered Alastors. “How the _fuck_ -assholes don’t get pregnant! How the hell did ya get me pregnant?”

The other _hims_ , his mind corrects, but that’s not the point. He ignores the sting of envy and shoves it back down deep where it belongs.

“Magic,” they chorus.

“Radio Demon,” Demon Alastor declares by way of explanation. He bows. “Pleasure.”

“Witch,” the other man proudly proclaims. “Leader of my coven.”

The one with the wings sighs. “Archangel. Anyway, I wish mine was fertile. It’d be splendiferous to have a brood.”

Witch Alastor snorts. “If you think Angel was ornery before, wait until you impregnate him.”

“If you’re _dead_ set”-a laugh track echoes in the distance, skipping like a broken record-“in doing so, couldn’t you, I don’t know, miracle him a uterus?”

Winged Alastor gasps. “I would never! That’s borderline blasphemy! Changing shape is one thing, but creating life is beyond sacrilege!”

“If demons are able, I’m sure you lot can,” Demon Alastor drawls. “Trust me, if you dare, when I say that I never intended to father spawn. I was unaware of the impressive fecundity of my partner. Who knows? _Yours_ might be, as we speak.”

Witch Alastor chuckles. “No pregnancy tests in Heaven?” The demon gives him a wry look. Alastor’s wings droop as if in quiet contemplation.

Angel takes full advantage of this lull.

“What the fuck is wrong with all of ya?” He turns to address Winged Alastor, curiosity whetted. “An’ since when do angels have sex?”

He blanches. Literally. Blinding light engulfs him for a second before petering out. “We’re an unusual circumstance.”

“I’ll bet,” Demon Alastor says, sarcasm oozing from his old-timey announcer lilt. He nods towards Angel. “Same attitude, mine. But with _eight_ limbs. Count your blessings.”

Winged Alastor winces. “The attitude may be the glaring similarity throughout.”

The witch hums. “I like it. Then again, he’s been like this since we were children. Although I might be biased or desensitized.”

“Speaking of sensitivity,” Demon Alastor purrs, smiling sinisterly.

“We could just share him.”

He opens his mouth to protest. Without further ado, a tendril snakes across his cheek and slithers into his mouth, jamming itself down his throat. He gags around the appendage, eyes rolling back as it steadily fucks his throat.

“Come now, Angel,” cajoles the demon. “Do you really think this could possibly be real? And if, by some strange miracle”-Winged Alastor harrumphs-“it is, do you think your Alastor would object?”

Angel objects on principle.

But plausible deniability aside, he is well aware that his Alastor, were he present, would delight as the rest of them do. They eye him hungrily from their respective positions. Angel swoons, dizzy with lust and lack of oxygen. His Alastor would find this situation positively titillating and would not only encourage it, but join in.

Outnumbered and with a growing pool of arousal stirring in his belly, he nods. The tendril retreats, and he gasps in a lungful of air as his throat spasms. He hacks, slitting his eyes at the grinning doppelgangers.

“Do we have your assent?” Demon Alastor croons.

Angel coughs again for good measure. Jerkily, he nods, glaring at them.

Winged Alastor breaks into a beatific smile. “Well, okay!”

Angel tries to withdraw, but his body behaves otherwise. Against his will, it’s wildly responsive. When the beast places his cold lips over Angel’s, he doesn’t think to protest.

Demon Alastor devours Angel.

And Angel lets him.

* * *

His tongue is long, unnaturally so.

It slithers inside his ass, violating and stretching him. He bides his time, eating him out with unmatched fervor. Angel writhes and moans as it prods his prostate, sending waves of pleasure to his cock. It recedes to lap at the rim, circling languidly around his fluttering hole.

“Hm. I’m used to pink and fur, but this will do.”

What and what, thinks Angel before he shoves back in for a final twist, causing Angel to bow up prettily, then finally retracts his tongue with a lewd slurp. The tendrils replace it, but Angel whines at the loss of thickness and heat. He petulantly clenches around the tendril, eliciting a breathy chuckle from the demon.

“Oh. But you have freckles on this vessel, too!”

He draws his fingers between them, tracing lines that that Angel feels but cannot see, connecting the dots with a whisper of claws on skin. For all his physical oddness compared to the human form, Demon Alastor’s skin is remarkably similar to his lover’s, albeit riddled with far more scars. Angel aches to run his hands over the keloidal tissue; their jagged raised edges contrasting with his soft palms; bracing himself as he slowly rides the monster beneath. Angel flushes at the shameful desires, but no amount of humiliation can deter the arousal that spikes through his body at the thought.

A leaking slit prods gently at his lips. Witch Alastor guides his tip in between Angel’s parted lips. He feeds Angel his cock while the angel positions his near the opposite side of his face. Angel lifts his hand, wraps it around the thick girth, and starts pumping.

One of them magicked most of their clothes off a while ago. The witch mentioned ripping it to shreds as they shared him, but Demon Alastor interjected, wanting to explore and unwrap the rest of his human body, whatever that meant. The tendrils, plural now, working him open pull out with wet, filthy squelches, and the demon finally unveils his cock.

“Say anything about the tail, and I won’t hesitate to rip your wings and antlers off,” he hisses. Angel almost misses the amused looks shared between the other two due to his cloud of panic. He pulls off Witch Alastor’s dick with a pop.

The cock is _enormous_. It’s as fat as one of Angel’s fantasy dildos and even longer. The dragon dick one, to be precise. The one that Alastor shoves inside of him when he’s being particularly bratty.

His eyes widen at the sheer girth of it. And at those ribbed bumps.

“Al,” he stutters. “Al, that ain’t gonna fit!”

The demon pouts. “If you can accommodate it in my world, you can learn to do so here. Now flip over.”

Angel valiantly resists, but the tentacles tighten their hold.

“Please, Al,” he begs. It’s a mistake the minute it leaves his mouth.

“Say that again,” the demon coos. His claws trail down Angel’s face, mapping the freckles with slow, measured taps.

“Beg.”

The monster cockhead presses insistently against his hole. He squirms. Precum slicks his rim, and Angel is foolish enough to repeat the plea.

“Please.”

Demon Alastor smiles, cupping his face. Soothing jazz notes fill the air. Angel relaxes into the pacifying touch, letting down his guard.

Alastor _thrusts_ in.

It feels like he’s being ripped apart.

Angel sobs as pain slices through him, flailing every nerve open in his body. It throbs inside him as the monster above shivers and keens.

“He’s deliciously tight,” the demon garbles out, static bleeding into his words.

“You’re hurting him,” snaps Winged Alastor. He unfurls his wings, fanning them completely open, and presses his hands together. He murmurs something and instantly, the pain dissipates and the pleasure returns, tenfold.

Angel lifts his chin. “Thanks, babe,” he whispers before the demon shoves forward again. Winged Alastor swoops down to kiss him. He feels remarkable: the softness of his lips and the slow rocking of his tongue. Angel punches tiny gasps into his mouth in tandem with the demon’s thrusts.

Searing pleasure assaults his body. The ribbed cock in his hole is too much at once, but he’s given little time to process it when Winged Alastor apologizes with a last kiss. He stands up, nudging his cock into Angel’s gasping mouth. The witch nips and sucks his nipples, toying with Angel’s dick with clever fingers. Angel moans around a mouthful of cock with every thrust of the one brutally fucking into him. The knots assault his prostate, shockwaves zigzagging up his spine. He whimpers as Winged Alastor fucks his throat while he cants into the witch’s tight fist.

“Oh, sweetheart. See? You take us so well.”

This is it, he realizes.

This creature is Alastor’s inner beast made flesh. Maybe they all are. He jolts around the thick intrusion, humiliation and pleasure blooming in his belly. Excitement. He wonders what that says about him.

“I know,” he brags, spreading his thighs wider.

And what pretty flesh it is.

* * *

The knots swell inside him, and Angel squeals.

“Stop! Al! Fuck, babe! It hurts!”

Witch Alastor shushes him with his lips. He thumbs away the tears from his cheeks.

“Darling,” he murmurs, cradling his face. “You’re doing so well. Try to relax.”

Angel gazes through blurred vision, batting his lashes. “Ya usually gag me,” he whispers, flexing his thighs wantonly.

Demon Alastor rumbles, and the vibrations shoot to his cock. They rub along Angel’s prostate and he gasps, the sensation jolting straight up his dick. It twitches, leaking globs of precum.

“I like when you beg,” he says.

Angel tilts his hips as far as the knot allows. He glides back down, hissing at the unrivalled spread in his ass. He feels so incredibly full, so _wanted_ , and lavishes under the attention.

“Yeah, ya do,” he says, reaching up to yank him down. He parts his mouth and minds the teeth.

The demon obliges.

Angel fucks through the blinding torrents of pain and pleasure. He bites his lip to bleeding, right on the cusp of coming, when extra tentacles wrap around his waist and flip him over, with the demon’s cock _still inside him_. He wails at the sudden spin, the ribbed bumps and fattened knots kneading and stretching him in places he thought impossible.

He scrambles to his hands and knees when the Alastors react simultaneously.

“How singularly _divine_.”

“Delightful! I wonder if I could convince mine.”

Demon Alastor dances his claws down Angel’s back, barely breaking skin. He fondles the curve of his ass, tracing the outline of the heart on his cheek.

“My dear, I adore the declaration,” he purrs fondly. “‘Property of’. Leaves no doubt as to whom.”

He rocks into Angel as his knots thicken. Angel feels like he’s mere seconds from bursting. Winged Alastor and Witch Alastor take turns soothing him, peppering kisses to his shoulders, neck, lips.

“Good boy,” the witch murmurs against his throat.

“You take me so well, my darling,” whispers the angel, lips touching his shoulder.

The tendrils wrap around his cock, pumping him as he’s filled to the brim. His head spins as every nerve in his body lights up with intense sensation. He bucks his hips, chasing the mounting pleasure when Alastor-one of them-wraps a hand around his neck and squeezes.

Angel comes, just as the knots pulse and sheer warmth floods inside him.

He falls limp into Winged Alastor’s arms, tendrils milking the last spurts of come from his cock. He’s gifted a brief moment of respite when the demon slowly begins fucking into him again. He chuckles lowly at Angel’s weak moan, a thread of static woven in the taunting laugh.

“Oh no, no, no, my dear. We haven’t yet begun.”

Fingers brush the shell of his ear as they snap. To Angel’s horror, his cock stiffens.

Readying his body for round two.

* * *

After Demon Alastor successfully finishes inside him, they amenably switch places. Angel, blissfully fucked out but impudent as ever, demands one stipulation.

“Those teeth ain’t gettin’ anywhere near my junk.”

The demon sighs. “Fine.” He motions to the angel. “Would you do the honors? Or is fellatio another sin?”

“I’ll do it,” Witch Alastor says. He crawls over on all fours, taking his time when he reaches Angel to lick a slow stripe up his cock. Angel shivers as he laps at the slit.

“I want to,” he purrs before sliding his mouth over the head. Angel bucks into glorious wet heat, mouth opening to protest, beg or scream. Probably a bit of all. Demon Alastor uses that opportunity to cram his cock, or whatever Angel can fit, down his throat. It’s far too thick and large, but Angel swallows it anyway. His throat tingles strangely, and he suspects it’s magic. Or miracles, judging from the concerned look on Winged Alastor’s face.

Angel arches his back, moaning around the girth. Winged Alastor hesitates. Growling, the demon pulls out of Angel’s mouth.

“Fuck him, or let the witch have him.”

Winged Alastor ruffles his feathers. “Don’t rush me, demon. I’m getting there.”

Witch Alastor laps at Angel’s cockhead. “We can collar you.” He kisses down the shaft, nipping lightly. “Does yours collar you too?”

Angel moans at the dueling sensations, lolling his head to the side. “Yes,” he breathes. Hoisting himself up on his elbows, he gazes forward with lidded eyes.

“C’mon, daddy,” he beckons to the angel, spreading his legs. Come oozes out as he fingers his hole, and it’s delicious, the way Winged Alastor’s halo tilts.

“Fuck me,” he purrs, scissoring himself open.

“Daddy?” Winged Alastor repeats, mildly alarmed.

“It’s a human endearment,” Witch Alastor explains.

“Just _fuck_ him. We haven’t got all night,” the demon grouses.

Angel moans as tendrils position his face so that he can watch Winged Alastor’s cock disappear into his body.

* * *

Witch Alastor climbs on top of him, heedless of the tremors racking his body from the angel’s forceful thrusts. He smiles maddeningly before lining up Angel’s cock to his hole. He sinks down. Angel moans at the sudden heat swallowing his cock as Witch Alastor rides him, a vice grip around his dick, clenching tightly with each swing of his hips. He strokes himself, lazily grinning as Angel jerks up.

Angel’s hole floods with come. It spills down his thighs. He clenches his fluttering hole in a futile attempt to keep it inside him as Winged Alastor continues fucking and coming deep inside his body. Angel’s hand sloppily fists Demon Alastor’s cock, sticky palm gliding over the ribbed bumps and burgeoning knots.

His eyes roll back more times than he can count. Fingers scrabble at his chin, guiding his mouth to theirs; Angel loses track of which Alastor he’s kissing. All those hands: pinching him, teasing, and touching.

Heaven and hell blissfully intertwined. Angel could bask in this moment forever, the way his body just sings with pleasure.

They play him like a violin, coaxing the sweetest sounds from his throat and his fucked out hole. It’s heady and overwhelming. Each time he comes, all three will fuck him through it, sharing him in turns. Either magic or miracles are keeping him conscious, but Angel finds that it matters not.

If at any point, Angel was unsure, this cinches it.

Angel _loves_ Alastor.

Winged Alastor’s pinions spread, an ethereal glow emanating from his askew halo. Angel gasps with every thrust as each flap of wings propel the archangel’s cock deeper into his body.

And etched plainly on his face, for all to witness: ecstasy. Of the highest order.

“Angel,” he stammers, panting with exertion. “I love you.”

Angel, God help him, melts. He can _feel_ it. It showers down on him, like the first rays of sunglow breaking through the dawn. He watches Angel, naked affection shining in his face, and for a second, the monocle, halo, and wings disappear, and it’s his Alastor gazing down at him.

His, and his alone.

Angel’s orgasm rips from him.

It’s _heaven_.

Alastor repeats the sentiment as he spills inside. Angel clenches, desperately trying to keep that professed love within him. His lashes flutter as he struggles to stay conscious. Witch Alastor and Demon Alastor exchange loaded looks. Angel misses the words they trade as the cock inside him throbs with release. Jets of warmth coat his insides as the angel fucks him full of come. Finally, he pulls out, still spilling, spurting seed all over his hole, balls, cock, stomach. Angel watches, fascinated, as it pools on his thighs, seemingly never-ending. Judging from the prayers that slip past his lips, it doesn’t seem like an uncommon occurrence for the angel.

Angel slips his hand over his cock, and milks him through the rest of it, cooing encouraging words as he gazes gratefully at Angel’s flushed face. When he finishes, Angel’s hand is slathered in come. Driven by habit, he sucks his fingers into his mouth and licks it off, tongue darting between the digits.

“My, that _is_ a lot.”

Winged Alastor bites his lip, sheepish. “I can’t control it.”

Witch Alastor waves off the explanation. “No, no. He’s much more fetching this way. Next time, pull out and aim for his chest.”

“I wonder how many times we can use him before he loses consciousness,” Demon Alastor offhandedly muses.

Belatedly, Angel wonders if he _is_ in Alastor’s head.

It certainly sounds like the conversations he would have with himself.

* * *

At some point, he grows breasts.

Winged Alastor appears thrilled as he fucks Angel’s tits, every drag of his cock dribbling copious amounts of come between the mounds. His slit leaks as it pokes between the cleavage. He scoops it up, then slathers it over Angel’s sensitive nipples, smearing it over his piercings. Angel arches into the tingling sensation, back arched as his fingers smoothly glide, lubricated by come.

Angel laps at the slit when the cockhead brushes against his mouth. His eyes widen at the newly altered taste.

It’s divine.

“Magic?” he asks, teasing the head with his lips.

“Miracle,” Winged Alastor gasps out, insistently pushing into his mouth. Angel feels an unexpected surge of affection, and opens wider, caressing the heavy underside of his cock with his tongue.

Witch Alastor commandeers his thighs. With a whispered command, Angel traps his legs around his cock, blindly feeling the head drooling between his plush thighs. The angel’s spend from earlier generously lubricates the way, and Witch Alastor slides between them with tantalizing ease.

Angel cranes his neck, trying to watch all of them at once.

Those pulsing muscles in his forearms. The strong, sure hands. Sweat beading on his forehead as he concentrates. His dimples deepening with each forceful exhale.

It’s his Alastor.

Well.

They’re all his, and Angel knows it.

But he loves his Alastor best.

* * *

The Alastors can say all they want, Angel thinks as fingers comb through his hair. He swallows another thick load before peering up at them and smiling.

Two of them visibly gulp. One mirrors the smirk.

They know who holds the reins.

“I can fit two of ya, daddies,” he purrs, bouncing on his knees in his signature stripper move.

Winged Alastor’s halo droops to the side. Witch Alastor rights it with a toss of his antlers. Demon Alastor’s pupils turn ghoulish: radio dials.

All of them share a wicked grin.

“Can you, now?”

Demon Alastor bends down, the corners of his lips quirking up.

“ _Which_ two?”

Angel bats his lashes and coquettishly returns the smile.

* * *

He drifts off, head nodding into the demon’s chest. The witch version of his lover dozes and curls around him, warmth seeping into his back. Hands massage his feet, feathers tickling his toes.

A whisper that sounds like, “Maybe, if you play your cards right, you can have that too” floats past him. His pillow growls a retort back.

He then hears, “You’re well-loved, Anthony.”

Angel yawns. “I know,” he murmurs before his eyes flutter shut.

“He loves you, your Alastor."

"We all do."

A low snort rumbles from the demon, chest vibrating under Angel’s cheek.

Surprisingly, no refutation follows.

* * *

“Kid.” A hand gently slaps his face.

“Kid, wake up.”

Angel groans. Groggily, he stirs. He blinks as Husk’s face focuses into view.

“What happened?”

Husk shrugs, fishing out his cigarette pack. He pulls one out with his teeth, the unfiltered end bobbing as he explains. “You and Al passed out in Lucifer’s creepy-ass forest. Al noticed you were missing, so he ran off to find ya. Then _he_ fucking disappeared, and we organized a goddamn search party.”

He lights his cigarette, mindless of Angel’s glare. “Something was in those drinks. As the resident alcoholic, I think I’m qualified to say that whatever that shit was, it wasn’t _just_ alcohol. Some jackass probably spiked it.”

And skipped town, he doesn’t say, but he doesn’t need to. Angel knows of exactly one person who would do such a thing, and judging by Husk’s dark demeanor, he shares the same thought.

His heart jumps. “Where’s Al?”

“He’s here. We found him first. Well, Niffty did. He was spooked to shit. Looked like he’d seen a…well, ya know. He’s fine now, but the guy was babbling that his dick was broken or something. Because of that, we figured ya got to him first.”

“He did. In a sense.”

Alastor’s weary voice drifts into the room. He walks with a queer hunch, wincing with every step forward. His hands hover in front of his trousers, almost protectively.

Angel attempts to stand on wobbly feet, but his ankles give way. Thankfully, Alastor reaches out and grabs him before he hits the floor. He nuzzles his face into Angel’s nape, folding his arms around his waist. He pats down his chest and stomach as if searching for something. Alastor flinches and moans when Angel’s ass brushes against his front.

“The fuck happened to you, babe?”

There’s a short beat of silence, and then:

“I think I just fornicated with a pregnant spider.”

Angel should’ve known better than to ask.


	2. Snu Snu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omake
> 
> Tags: Mpreg, male lactation, breeding kink, intersex Angel Dust (one of them), genderbending (one of them), cunnilingus

“Come on my hole and fuck it inside me until you’re done.”

Alastor blinks.

The last thing he remembered was running into the forest (“Like Captain Save-A-Ho,” sneered Vox at his back like the coward he was) and stumbled upon some sort of clearing before passing out like his eighteen-year-old self at Mardi Gras.

The demon, most likely since the _creature_ was about seven to eight feet tall and towered over Alastor, snaps his fingers in his face.

“Hello? Earth to Smiles?”

Alastor’s hackles instinctively raise, and he bats the hand away, snarling. “Yes, thank you. I’m trying to figure out if it’s my birthday or my funeral.”

The demon huffs and settles down on one of the beds. The other, rather gravid one, lewdly parts his legs. He flicks his tongue out, the twin jewels nestled in the center of it catching the light.

“I’m guessin’ birthday, stud,” he purrs.

Alastor is probably being overly cavalier about this, but right now, there are three Angels, two of which are pregnant, and one who is sporting wings. His cock is confused, but very much interested in the proceedings.

His legs move of their own accord, anyway.

However, his eyes just about bulge out of their sockets as the pregnant ones spread their legs. His heart skips, then goes into cardiac arrest as they reveal their wet cunts and swollen, glistening clits. In his short life, he hasn’t had many partners, especially compared to Angel, but this.

This, he remembers.

He places his palm on the round curve of the pierced Angel’s rotund stomach before slowly caressing it. The fake mustache tickles his nostrils, so he rips it off and throws it to the ground. Angel moans under his roving palm. The skin is buttery smooth against his calloused hand. Alastor grins, calculated and sensual.

“This mine, dear?” he purrs, dipping down to his lips and grazing his thumb over his clit.

Now the demon growls, jerking upright. He snatches his other hand and forces that one to his own bulging stomach.

“Yeah, ya fuckin’ dick! Who else’s would it be?”

Pierced Angel snorts. “Yeah, babe. Only magic can get me like this.” He grabs Alastor’s hand, guides it, and slips a finger between his thick, freckled thighs. Alastor bites back his moan. “Magic, and you.”

He’s unbelievably wet. Alastor swallows as his finger slides in to the knuckle. His cunt feels so petal-soft, deep inside. Alastor’s mind stutters in static bursts while his cock hardens painfully in his trousers. He fucks another finger inside, salivating at how the man bucks and lifts his heavy hips, encouraging him deeper. He can’t stop staring at the curve of his stomach, and how alluring it all is.

Meanwhile, the demon bares his teeth.

Alastor’s other hand strokes his belly, so when the fur under his fingers moves and impatiently pushes up against his hand, he spares a glance. Lifting a brow, he gives the demonic Angel a once-over.

The demon pouts. He seems to be suffering a malady much to do with attention, or a lack of it. A needy whine erupts from his throat. He yanks Alastor’s hand down to his equally needy, dripping cunt. The slick snakes down his fingers and soaks the bed. Instinctively, Alastor’s fingers find his clit. He _pinches_. Demon Angel moans, also bucking into his roving hand.

Alastor thanks whatever deity blessed or cursed him with ambidexterity.

The winged angel whimpers, likely at the depraved scene. As Alastor’s fingers piston in and out of the Angels’ cunts, he watches, wide-eyed and delectably innocent; the only thing betraying him is his thickening cock, precum pearling at the tip. He fiddles with his hands, biting his lip in that fetching way of his.

Alastor finds it a tad odd that they were all undressed to begin with, but perhaps that’s just Angel being, well, Angel. He’s starting to feel overdressed for the occasion, but then two extra limbs extrude from Demon Angel’s torso and unzip his fly. Four of his hands divest him of his clothes while he pauses his thrusting to ruminate on what the hell just happened.

 _Two extra limbs extrude from Demon Angel’s torso_.

He gets about ten or fifteen seconds into his muse about how extremely lucky his demon self must be (or overwhelmed) when the little brats start riding his fingers, squeezing around them in audacious petulance. And because Alastor can be just as impudent, he fucks his fingers in harder.

Faster.

He crooks his fingers, twisting them until the pierced one cries out. His cunt squeezes around the digits, greedily sucking them in. The flush blossoms from his ample chest up to his face. His back arches as Alastor milks out his orgasm. He coos encouragingly as that Angel falls apart.

“That’s it, darling. Ride it out.”

He’s at full mast, now. All Alastor wants to do is to anchor his hands around Angel’s hips, any one of them, and sink into that soft, wet heat. And he can. They’re right there, all ripe for the taking. His slit drools with precum. He pinches his eyes shut, but it’s to no avail.

The images are burned into his brain, and the slickness around his fingers is maddening.

Then, a warm suction wraps around his cock. His hips fly up and his mind erases. His fingers slip out with a slurp and a pathetic mewl. Alastor’s hand seeks out the warmth. It lands on a pillowy cheek. His eyes snap open. The winged Angel stares up at him with doe eyes under long, fluttering lashes.

“Fuck,” Alastor curses, and the angel’s eyes widen. He thrusts in shallowly as he adjusts and curls his fingers inside the demon. The demon purrs, clenching down as his hips bounce. Alastor makes the rookie mistake of focusing on one Angel at a time when the mouth around his cock tightens.

Now, Alastor knows that his right eye is more myopic than his left, but he’s also certain that he goes cross-eyed when the angel’s tongue _swirls_ around his cock.

“Jesus,” he says as the clever tongue laps and dips into his slit. It’s beyond enticing. Pleasure courses through him, culminating in a full-body shudder. He thrusts further inside, aching for more of that hot mouth when the demon fists the angel’s hair and yanks him off Alastor’s dick with a lewd pop. The angel snarls, then snaps his teeth at him. Alastor hardly has time to wonder about the mercurial switch in temperament when Demon Angel snakes a hand around his nape.

Alastor obediently dips down. He smiles against the demon’s excited cunt, slick coating his lips.

“Oh, I remember this,” he coos, and it gives him some satisfaction to witness the jealousy flash across their faces. “It’s been a while, but I’m sure I can fall back into the habit! Why, it’s just like riding a-”

Demon Angel forces his head down and smashes his face into his pussy. His inner beast rears up, then settles back down, purring, at the delectable taste and silky softness. He moans, sinking his tongue deep inside the demon. He twists and flattens his tongue within and up again, flicking his clit as he explores the novel entrance. With every dive of his tongue, slick drips down his chin, but all Alastor can focus on is the _taste_. He’s delicious. Alastor could do this the rest of the day, eating Demon Angel out until his thighs convulse around his ears.

It’s so intoxicating, that there’s a high possibility that he could come without touching himself.

After nibbling on his plump clit, Alastor reluctantly withdraws. He lewdly licks up one last time before hoisting himself up on the mattress. Blindingly hard, he positions himself between Demon Angel’s legs. There’s an incredible height difference, and Alastor finds he rather likes it. He’s smaller in all aspects but the thing that counts, and that’s the absolute silver lining. He crawls up Angel’s long, rounded torso. His cock drags against the fur, and he moans. It’s positively sinful, but the softness feels fantastic against his dick, and he ruts against the tickling sensation.

Demon Angel purrs. “Ya like that, baby?” He rolls his hips. Alastor mats his fur with precum as pleasure shoots to his cock.

“Oh,” the demon breathes, running hands down Alastor’s sides, over his ass. “Sorry, baby.”

Alastor thrusts into the warmth, reaching up to grab fistfuls of his chest. “Oh, darling,” he croons. “Don’t be foolish. I like whatever you like.” He kneads his fingers deeper into the fluff. Demon Angel’s back arches into the sinful touch.

“That’s it, darling,” he coos into mouthfuls of soft fur. “I’m going to milk you of everything you’ve got.”

Warmth floods his mouth. His eyes widen behind his glasses as he sucks, and _of course_. The taste is just shy of sweet, and he paws at the jiggling flesh under it, trying to coax more of the liquid out. Demon Angel whimpers at the rougher handling. Alastor grinds his hips down and sucks harder.

“Al,” he whines, tilting his hips higher. “Al, babe, it hurts.”

Sighing, Alastor parts his lips and disengages. He straightens his glasses when the demon pulls him up and presses his lips over his. A sharp prick and Alastor tastes copper. Angel laves his tongue over the nick, almost apologetically. Alastor squeezes the base of his cock to keep from coming.

“Ya look exactly how I pictured,” breathes the demon. “Exactly what I wanted when I was alive.”

Alastor furrows his brow. “Alive?”

“Yeah. Well, I already knew what ya looked like after we used magic that one time, but damn.” He smiles, and Alastor mirrors it unconsciously. There’s gold in his mouth, and it glints under the dancing firelights. The demon huffs, a touch ruefully.

“I wish I could’ve met ya earlier. Maybe you’d be nicer to me.”

He rears back, puzzled. “Nicer? Am I not-are we not together?”

The sharp bark of laughter is laced with longing, and maybe even a tinge of bitterness. He narrows his eyes and looks away, a pained grimace writ large across his face. Alastor’s gaze travels from his mismatched eyes down to his flushed cheeks, where eyes shaped as large freckles reside. It doesn’t bother him, and perhaps it should, but Alastor is fascinated more than anything. It’s Angel, in one itineration or another, and he is in far too deep to not find the beauty in all of them. The demon moves his hands as if to shield the deepening blush. Alastor spots the band around his finger as Angel cups his cheek.

“Are we married?”

Angel’s eyes widen. As if unthinkingly, he touches the ring, rolling it back and forth between two manicured claws.

“Sure. Yeah, kinda.”

“Ah.”

A strained look passes between Pierced Angel and Winged Angel that Alastor does not miss, but he chalks it up to that strange sanctity of vows they call marriage. His demon, whatever version of himself that might be, must be of the same mind as Alastor.

He clears his throat. “Well, I’m sure that’s splendid. Congratulations.”

Demon Angel bites his lip. For a heartbeat, Alastor is struck dumb by the resemblance.

“Thank you,” he whispers. He slides it up and down his finger. The gem is enormous. It glitters under the oscillating lights.

“You’re welcome?” Alastor says, aiming for levity during the curious gravitas. The demon opens his mouth to say something but apparently thinks better of it. Pierced Angel hurriedly cuts in to fill the widening crevasse between them.

“Babe,” he whines, sliding his thighs together. He parts them like the goddamn red sea, the pale flesh blasphemously spurring Alastor forward with the slick temptation that lies between.

He bats his lashes. “Do me, next?”

Alastor growls and grips tighter around the base of his cock. Demon Angel helps him off and positions him on his back. The mattress sinks as Pierced Angel clambers on to his shoulders and unceremoniously sits on his face.

If Alastor were to die now, he thinks he can live with the obituary.

With every bob of his hips, the pierced angel grinds down on his face. Alastor parts his mouth greedily, darting his tongue out and lapping between the folds as best as he can, considering the heft and weight. His cock twitches as Angel smothers him with his cunt. When he finally relents, Alastor sucks in a breath, his lips slathered in slick. He bites Pierced Angel’s inner thigh as punishment, but it backfires.

The pierced Angel _convulses_. His thighs clench around Alastor’s ears. Alastor thrusts his tongue in as far as he can go and twists. He nearly comes as Angel’s cunt tightens sinfully around his tongue, as he bucks up and down it like some sort of fuck toy. Alastor is so close to coming and almost succeeds, when a hushed string of words yanks him back from the precipice. Alastor snarls, half-mad with fury. Winged Angel smiles sheepishly at him. The beast takes this as submission and vows to tear him apart.

In the only way he wants to.

“Fine,” Alastor says, rolling to his side. He pushes Pierced Angel down by his shoulder. He obliges, eyes glazed over with orgasmic aftershock. He allows Alastor to manhandle his legs wide open. Alastor’s fingers slide over the sensitive cunt, parting the folds, wet and pink, to the rest of the audience.

“Fuck him,” Alastor cajoles, fisting his cock. His silver tongue oozes desire.

“It’s not like you can get him pregnant _again_ , dear.” He switches his attention to the demon. “Get behind him,” he orders.

He grins from ear to ear.

“We’re going to fuck him together.”

Winged Angel whimpers. Pierced Angel spreads his legs wider, licking his lips, fucked out beyond comprehension. Alastor rights himself and swiftly moves behind the angel, positioning him. Alastor contents himself by idly playing with his foreskin, blunt nail dipping inside his slit. His chest curls around the cumbersome wings as he holds the base of the angel’s cock, angling it just right.

Inch by inch, Alastor forces Winged Angel inside his pregnant self.

As soon as the angel begins thrusting, he crawls to the side of Pierced Angel’s protruding belly. Alastor lavishes his attention on the freckled tits, teasing and mapping them with his tongue. He sucks hard, coaxing a spurt from the nipple as Pierced Angel squeals. He tongues the thick barbells, threading the metal between his teeth.

The angel’s eyes are shut tight as he fucks inside himself. Dual snakes of pleasure slither down Alastor’s spine. His neglected cock drools on the mattress. Sensing his dissatisfaction, Pierced Angel grabs a fistful of Alastor’s ass and guides his bulging cockhead into his waiting mouth. He laps at the slit. Alastor growls. He pumps his hips so that he pistons further in. Alastor bucks into the warmth. Demon Angel appears at Pierced Angel’s back and gently pushes him to his side. As Alastor fucks his mouth and Winged Angel slides into his cunt, the demon slowly eases himself into the pierced angel’s asshole. He gasps, or at least tries to, around Alastor’s fat cock.

But everything fills him, and any arguments to the contrary seem to die on his rose-bitten lips.

They fuck him, lazily and in tandem. It’s fairly difficult with the belly and all, but they manage.

It’s by far one of the most scintillating images Alastor has ever witnessed, and the scene sears into his brain. Unsurprisingly, his cock agrees. Pleasure rains over him. His spine tingles with warning. Then, Pierced Angel flicks his tongue and the piercings dig into the underside of his cock.

Alastor closes his eyes as ecstasy lashes through him.

He _fills_ Pierced Angel’s mouth. The relief is exhilarating. He undulates his hips as ecstasy races down his spine, and in thick pulses inside that warm mouth.

Like the consummate slut that Pierced Angel is, he tries to swallow all of it. The only evidence of Alastor’s orgasm: the obscene bobbing of his lover’s throat.

And that just won’t do.

So Alastor yanks his hips back and finishes all over his chest. He hums, endearments slipping past his lips as he spurts all over Pierced Angel’s ample breasts. Just to be wicked, he rubs his cockhead between them, rolling his hips into that soft plushness. He drags his cockhead over his nipples, sliding against the metal barbells. He hisses at the coolness. Pierced Angel whimpers.

When all is said but not remotely done, Alastor takes a moment to catch his breath. He flips over and faces his winged Angel.

“Your turn,” he says, all teeth.

The wings tremble in response.

* * *

Alastor takes his time with the angel.

At least in the beginning.

This one was so innocent, compared to the rest, and Alastor’s sadistic nature simply could not be denied. His beast shivers at the thought. At the idea of desecration.

Demon Angel licks his long tongue up the back of the angel’s neck. Two of his hands fondle the feathers at the base where his wings meet his shoulder blades. They twitch, and Winged Angel’s mouth parts to release a loud moan.

Interesting, Alastor thinks. The thought of it is comical and bizarre, but if he were to find himself in heaven, well. He knows who he would beeline straight for. That is to say, if his other self would allow him passage.

The angel shudders, but gazes back at the demon with an open, wanton expression. Demon Angel smiles, flashing his gold tooth.

“You’re lucky my Al ain’t here right now, babe. He’d fuckin’ have ya for breakfast.”

“He can have me for dinner, too,” the angel retorts cheekily.

A flash of annoyance sings through Alastor, momentarily displacing the hunger. He can hardly believe that he would be jealous of his other selves, but stranger things _have_ happened, he supposes.

“If you’re done squabbling, I’d like you both to focus on the me that is here,” he says, a tad petulantly. He most certainly does not pout.

“Sorry, daddy,” the demon purrs. The angel looks just as contrite as him.

Which is to say: not in the least.

Alastor sighs. He has his work cut out for him.

If he were ever to meet his god-awful doppelgangers, he would read them the riot act and show them how to tame their pets.

Preferably in front of them.

That last thought is too wicked to bear, so he eases his way into the angel, uncaring about how blasphemous it might be. Alastor’s made his peace with hell, anyway. And as the thought percolates in his mind and the angel’s tight hole flutters around him, another idea latches on to that sinful notion.

He wonders if he could impregnate the angel.

His hand flies to the base of his cock again in a vicious attempt to keep from coming. He refuses to let the miracle or whatever nonsense go to waste, even if all he craves is to push inside the angel and claim him. _Breed_ him.

“My dear,” he croons, stroking his faux innocent face. “I wonder if you’d like me to impregnate you.”

Angel throws his head back and moans.

It’s music to Alastor’s ears. He groans as his lover tightens.

“Since I was beaten to the punch anyway, at least with these two.” He nods in their general directions, eying their pregnant bellies enviously.

They all smirk.

Alastor single-handedly wipes the grins off their faces.

“In any case,” he says breezily, “I sometimes take mine in front of a camera. For posterity’s sake.”

“What the fuck.”

“ _Mercy_ , babe.”

“Got any videos with ya, daddy?”

Alastor snorts. “Obviously not.”

Demon Angel pouts, but it’s short-lived. He sends a devilish smirk in the angel’s direction.

“Wanna help the class, angel? You’re the only one who can do magic ‘round here.”

“Miracles,” the angel hisses, sounding as petulant as stamping his foot on the ground. As it were, his ankles are on Alastor’s shoulders, so he compromises by clenching around Alastor’s cock. Alastor’s interest piques. In more ways than one. He’s always enjoyed breaking a subordinate brat, and a-mostly-innocent soul to boot. His smile curves in an impish grin. From the corner of his eye, he sees Demon Angel and Pierced Angel giving him an equally appreciative expression.

And who knows? Maybe human biology is enough to plant the seed, so they say, in an ethereal creature such as this one.

This time, when Angel bows his head in prayer, the vibrations from the hymns race straight to his cock. Alastor bites his lip as the angel’s hole judders around his shaft and grips his sensitive, leaking head in a vice chokehold that rivals the most expensive toys Angel uses on him. His hips slam into the backs of the angel’s freckled thighs as he fucks deeper into that tight heat. Their moans fill the air as Angel’s ankles graze his ears.

A screen projects in the infinite sky above them.

In it: Alastor’s Angel, dressed in a translucent brassiere and panty set, on his hands and knees. He pitches forward with every thrust, knuckles white and fingers digging into the sheets. The man behind him, unidentified on-screen but wholly obvious to present company, pistons into him as Angel smears his makeup with tears.

All the Angels watch the screen with rapt fascination.

“Ah, ah,” Alastor scolds, sinking his teeth into the angel’s ankle, diverting his attention, “eyes on me, darling.” He thrusts in, maddingly slow if only to draw out those beautiful, broken moans.

“That’s it, sweetheart, just like the picture show.”

On-screen, he feeds his cock into Angel in a sawing motion. His thick shaft disappears into Angel’s slicked hole.

Off-screen, Angel bucks back under Alastor as his fist flies over his cock, precum beading at the tip.

“ _You_ don’t need to call me daddy,” he assures the angel gently, voice rumbling deeper as the vice grip bears down on his cock. The pleasure magnifies to a fever pitch. Alastor whips his head to the side, eyes dark with unbridled lust.

“But _they_ do.”

The other versions of Angel lazily smirk back. Pierced Angel watches them, fingering his clit while the demon does the same with his cock and cunt. Alastor’s attention switches back to the beautiful, writhing thing under him.

He fucks into the angel, heedless of how rough. “Come on, sweetheart,” he croons, “let me in.”

The angel’s eyes widen, but the shock is swiftly replaced by distilled lust. His arms loop around Alastor’s neck to bring him closer. The heat of their bodies climbs higher, and for some inexplicable reason, Alastor’s mind swims with visions of a spiraling pyre.

“God,” he says, brokenly; blasphemously. “Angel, sweetheart, let me breed you.”

He doesn’t need to hear the affirmation, because the body beneath him answers instead. The delighted gasps around their sinful coupling reiterates the sentiment.

“Babe,” the angel moans. He slips on the sheets as his hips fly up, but Alastor catches him.

He always does. “Babe, _Al_ , I love you.”

It’s not a strange occurrence, to hear those sacred three words during coitus and otherwise, but there’s an unsettling sensation of the demon’s many eyes boring into Alastor’s back.

He ignores it.

For now:

“I know, dear. Me too.” He touches his forehead to the angel’s, knocking his halo back. He kisses Angel sloppily and open-mouthed, the force of his oncoming orgasm rendering him desperate.

Alastor can’t think. His mind overloads. It blanks as the angel tightens around his cock. The hot core of pleasure builds until he feels it, threatening to spill over and desecrate everything.

“Come on, darling,” he grits out. “Let go.”

The angel’s back arches as his eyes flutter closed. He clenches around Alastor as he comes. His hips convulse as his orgasm is violently forced from him. He sobs, dragging Alastor’s shoulders down as he gives in to bliss. His halo brightens. Alastor squeezes his eyes shut. His jaw dampens with the angel’s tears, and although his first instinct is to comfort his angel, an overwhelming majority enjoys the heaving sobs.

He topples over the edge at that shameful revelation.

Finally, he thinks, as he comes deep inside, claiming his partner. Something just as blinding and honest as the glow from the angel’s halo fills him as he empties. It’s a warmth that spreads from his chest outward and bathes them all in light.

Alastor doesn’t ruminate on it.

It’s practically repeat occurrence, after all.

* * *

He slumps over, drooling into the sheets.

Foolishly, he’d thought that the dream would be over and done with at this juncture, but as always in regards to Angel, Alastor is dead wrong.

“Does anyone have rope?”

Alastor blearily looks up. They smile at him with matching devilish grins. He’s forcefully yanked up to a sitting position, and at once, Alastor knows what the demons mean to do. The angel bows his head. Ropes snake around Alastor’s body and bind his arms to his sides. Snarling, he struggles with the bonds, but the fury leaves him in a humiliating rush the minute one of them sits on him, and when that tight wet heat engulfs his dick.

He doesn’t mind as much after that.

They do _something_ , Alastor’s positive, to his cock. He doesn’t come after the first time, and his dick remains leaking and erect after Pierced Angel finishes and the demon takes his place.

They take turns riding him.

The different Angels siphon their pleasure from him, and as irritating as it feels to be used as a sex toy, he can’t deny the burgeoning pleasure consolidating at his spine. He buries himself as best as he can and comes inside all of them.

Eventually.

* * *

He curls up against the demon, resting his head on the soft mounds of fluff. He buries his face in it as the demon chuckles. Winged Angel settles near Alastor’s legs, peppering kisses and humming prayers up his thighs. The pierced Angel presses up against his side, guiding his hand over the soft swell of his stomach. Alastor can feel a heartbeat.

Or perhaps it’s his own.

“Your Angel’s so lucky,” the demon says. It’s a painful little thing.

Alastor closes his eyes. He takes his other hand and strokes the curve of his heaving belly. The suggestion snakes from his lips unwittingly, as drowsy and sore as he is.

“Maybe, if yours plays his cards right, he could have this too.”

Another whisper echoes in the eternal space, and it carries a similar sentiment.

_(Maybe, if you play your cards right, you can have that too)_

* * *

When Alastor collapses in his Angel’s arms, he murmurs something. Five syllabics.

And it is not, to Angel’s surprise, “Happy Halloween.”

He buries his face in Alastor’s hair to hide his blush. Angel smiles, a soft curve against his temple.

“Love ya, too, Al.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. “This better not awaken anything in me.” -Alastor, probably
> 
> 2\. “Goddammit.” -Also Alastor
> 
> 3\. Sorry about the lag. Lambing issues, everything otay now. New year, new porn


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